Pancakes
by Elementary Magpie
Summary: When you only have four senses, you make the most of them. Season 1 vignette.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Haven or its byproducts and won't now or ever make any money from them. This is affectionate tribute for personal entertainment only.

**Author's Note:** Just met this wonderful, leaves-you-wanting-more show on the first season DVD, and it has woken up my fanfic muse. This is a Season 1 vignette inspired by Dave's comment about Nathan: "When you only have four senses, you make the most of them." Takes place shortly after "Ain't No Sunshine."

**Pancakes**

"I still don't get it."

"What?" Nathan looked warily at his partner across the pancake-laden table at Ed's Diner. When Audrey had uncharacteristically suggested pancakes for lunch, he had guessed she was trying to cheer him up about Jess. Which was fine, seeing as it was pancakes. But he really didn't want to talk about it. And he'd let himself get distracted from keeping the conversation on safe ground, trying to figure out if there was a way to make it look like a natural accident if he bumped her hand with his when they both reached for the syrup pitcher.

"Your passionate love affair with pancakes. Oh, sorry, bad metaphor. I mean, OK: Sweet, Check. Fluffy, Check." With each item she waved a forkful of pancake for emphasis. "Filling, Check. I'll even give you nutritious, since you seem to live on them. But better than lobster? So not."

"It's a matter of taste," said Nathan.

"I think that was my point. How does sweet and fluffy stand up to rich, buttery lobster goodness?"

"No, I mean _taste_, Parker." He pointed to the forkful of pancakes she still held suspended over her plate. "Take a bite."

She rolled her eyes in that "I'm humoring my strange partner" way but did indeed put the forkful into her mouth.

"Now chew," he instructed, "and pay attention. Lobster has just one taste, two if you count butter. Pancakes have layers."

At her skeptical look, he prodded. "Taste the sugar? And the milk? The flour?"

She chewed, frowning down her little nose as if to cross-examine the contents of her own mouth. Then her frown sharpened into interest. "Huh," she said indistinctly through her mouthful.

"What else?" he asked.

"Cinnamon," she said, concentrating. "Maple syrup. Um, eggs?"

"And salt. And that faint bitterness is the baking powder."

"You've got me there—I don't taste that at all," she said, shaking her head but looking down at her plate of pancakes with what he wanted to believe was increased respect.

"Lobster is always lobster," he continued. "But every pancake recipe is different. I like Ed's for the cinnamon."

He didn't mention that his mother had always made them with cinnamon. Or that pancakes had been the first food she had figured out he could eat without choking, when his mouth had gone numb.

Audrey gave him a thoughtful look. "Did your mother make pancakes?" she asked.

"Yes." He made the word as short as possible and glanced down at his plate.

When he looked up again she was still eyeing him speculatively, then her face brightened as it always did when she'd found a new topic to investigate. "Hey, can you feel hunger? Like that hollow feeling in your stomach?"

Still personal, but not nearly as bad. "I can feel hunger," he said resignedly.

"Indigestion?"

"Yes. Feeling that coming on now."

But she was off. "Come on, what else?"

He thought about recent events. "Butterflies," he said shyly.

"Ouch. Really bad metaphor." She made a face.

He almost smiled. "Never going to be the same, are they?"

But she wasn't distracted. "Way. So you can feel bu- nervousness in your stomach?" Then she laughed. "Sure. When does Nathan Wournos ever feel nervous? I thought you were into being a tough guy."

She was joking, so he was off the hook. So it was surprising to hear himself say, "That night. With Jess."

He didn't look away in time to avoid seeing the compassion in her gaze and was just deciding whether or not to hate that when her face brightened again with a new idea. "Hey! When you were with Jess, could you tas-"

And the butterflies in his stomach were suddenly threatening to put the attack in his truck to shame when she abruptly stopped, possibly blushed, and did that whole-body reset she sometimes did. "I'm sorry. Never mind." She waved a hand before her face. "I'm sorry. Just—" She paused, then leaned forward staring at him, bright on a trail again. "Nathan, how come you aren't obese?"

"What?" he mumbled, still caught in a loop of concepts he usually tried very hard to keep separate: Audrey. Taste. _Her lips on his cheek_.

"How come you aren't constantly overeating?" she asked. "I mean, if I couldn't feel anything, but I could taste, I'd be tempted to eat way more than I needed."

He frowned at her, puzzled. "Why would I want to eat more than I need?" he asked.

- end -


End file.
